


against the sun (keep your apology)

by phylocalist



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), My Chemical Romance, The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Found Family, M/M, Porn With Plot, Watersports, yes these all exist within the same fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:01:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21557437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phylocalist/pseuds/phylocalist
Summary: May Destroya bless whoever had first put forth the idea of “Apocalypse Bunkers” to old, rich people who had too much of both paranoia and money and were not afraid to run out of the latter to satisfy the former.This bunker, whoever had built it, had made sure to cover all possibilities of a future apocalypse.More importantly, Poison remembers as he raises the canteen to his mouth for what must be the fifteenth time in about ten minutes, there were liters upon liters of water. Potable, drinkable water. Non-radiation contaminated water. You’ll-get-to-live-longer-not-shorter-if-you-drink-me water.
Relationships: Fun Ghoul/Party Poison (Danger Days)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 83





	against the sun (keep your apology)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [karmashiota](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karmashiota/gifts).



> this fic was written for the lovely [karma](https://twitter.com/lesbucciarati) who is, as always, the best person to work with and for. and as watersports and partyghoul is something we both go feral over, it was obviously a delight to write. this is also my first ever watersports fic! so they get that privilege and y'all have that to thank them for.
> 
> that being said tho, there's like 5k of wordvomit plot before actually getting to the point of the fic for which i am both sorry for and absolutely not. i WILL write found family whenever i am able to and no one can stop me. [sur](https://transgerard.tumblr.com) gave this a quick beta so if there are any mistakes left, it's all his fault and you should yell at him (or me in the comments, i guess).
> 
> lastly, the title is a mashup of two danger days songs: DESTROYA (against the sun) and na na na (keep your apology) and hopefully you can understand why it's so when you've read the fic! and hopefully you can enjoy the ride.
> 
> p.s.: if you'd like a fic written for you too, go check out [**my pinned tweet**](https://twitter.com/phylocalist)!

“I swear on the Witch, the radiation levels lately have been off the fuckin’ charts,” Poison complains as he fans himself with his shirt to try and relieve some of the heat. 

Even though it was already as worn and as ratty as one item of clothing could possibly be, it still felt like _too much_ to have it on. He had grabbed the shortest pairs of shorts he could find from Pony’s house a few days ago in their last visit, but they were made of some sort of leather-like material—of course, they were _Pony’s_ , what was he expecting—and they clung to his skin uncomfortably as he sweat. 

(What wouldn’t he give for a nice skirt right now. He sadly didn’t fit into the Girl’s clothing, though not for lack of trying. A few very precious pieces of clothing had been lost already and he didn’t dare invoke Jet’s fury again.)

A groan comes from his right side; either an affirmation or a complaint, Poison isn’t sure.

“I don’t know, man. Cherri hasn’t told Dr. D shit,” Ghoul replies. He is lying with both arms and legs stretched out, and Poison thinks he looks very much like an annoyed starfish. It’d be almost comical, if Poison himself wasn’t feeling exactly how Ghoul looks.

Poison huffs. “A valued informant he is,” he says, but there’s no heat behind it and they both know it. They _do_ value Cherri’s intel very much, but everything is hazy and annoying at this very moment.

Out of the corner of his eye, Poison watches as Ghoul suddenly turns and drapes himself over him, both his left arm and leg resting on top of Poison’s body. Poison immediately starts swatting at the offending limbs, groaning.

“Dude, it’s _too fuckin’ hot,_ get the fuck off.”

Poison feels hot breath hit the skin of his exposed collarbones and he shivers. “By Destroya, I wish.” Ghoul chuckles as his crotch rubs against Poison’s hips, making very clear what meaning he’s giving the words _get off_. Poison snorts, shaking his head with fond exasperation. “But it’s too fuckin’ hot,” Ghoul parrots his earlier words back at him and gets in one bite at Poison’s collarbone, which elicits a yelp from the bitten party, before he finally gets up and off of Poison.

Poison rubs at his collarbone, the dent Ghoul’s teeth made already fading away, but the skin still tender and red. He frowns and looks up at Ghoul as he sits up.

“You fuckin’ animal,” he says, referring to both his words and actions.

Ghoul cackles. “Oh, you know it, baby.” He winks. Poison rolls his eyes, but he can’t help the smirk that pulls at the corner of his mouth. Ghoul extends a hand in front of himself, offering it up to Poison, who takes it and uses it to pull himself up. Once he’s up, Ghoul snakes one arm around his waist and pulls him in close for a short kiss. “C’mon, we’re in charge of the next supply run and we still gotta plan it.”

“Hmm,” Poison hums, letting himself enjoy the closeness for a few seconds, before he’s stepping back because the heat is _unbearable_ , and not even in the fun way. He takes a step back and out of Ghoul’s embrace and offers his hand up this time. Holding hands is still shitty while it’s this hot, yeah, but he’ll take it over that much skin-to-skin contact any day. “Let’s go, I’m surprised Jet and Kobra haven’t come knock down the door to the roof already to drag us down there to strategize.”

Ghoul snorts—an agreement, Poison knows—and takes his hand.

*

“There’s this shack, right here,” Jet says as he circles a spot on the shitty map they managed to dig out of Dr. D’s archive. Poison squints. He doesn’t know shit about reading maps. “That hasn’t been raided as far as we know. It’s quite a ride and inches really close to Zone 6, which is why we think nobody has dared to go so far out to investigate it properly. We’ve only seen it in passing.”

Poison nods seriously, like he’s understanding anything at all of what Jet is saying or like he cares. Ghoul _is_ listening, he knows, and he’s always been the better one of the two of them at navigating and actually understanding maps, so he trusts him to learn and be able to use all of this info once time comes. Poison is good at scouting and finding things once they’re actually in the zone they’re supposed to be in, so they’re a great match.

Kobra notices, though, because of course he does, and Poison sees him roll his eyes. He elbows Kobra, a silent _shut the fuck up._ He _knows_ how to do his job, _this_ is just not it.

“It’s just a few miles off of the furthest point we’ve raided, though,” Ghoul says, circling something else on the map. Poison hums, trying to look like he knows exactly what place Ghoul is referring to. “It won’t be too hard to get there if we plan it right.”

“Yeah,” Jet agrees, his hair bouncing slightly with his nod. Poison tugs at his ratty shirt again, feeling hot just by looking at it. His own hair is, thank Destroya, long enough to be tied up in a ponytail and that is the only thing stopping him from completely buzzing it off. He doesn’t know how Jet survives the whole day under the blazing sun like _that_. “That’s why I thought it was doable and I think you guys are sturdy enough to make it there and back.”

“Yeah, no problem, man,” Ghoul says.

At the same time, Poison throws his hands up in the air and yells, like he’s unable to hold it in any longer, “Fucking hell on a stick, it’s too fucking hot! I’m dying!”

“That’s 3 carbons on the swear jar!” Comes a small, sing-song voice from the adjacent room, where the Girl is playing and where they keep the only functioning fan in the whole diner. Poison has never been more jealous of a nine-year-old girl—except maybe for when he had tried to fit into her skirts and didn’t manage it. 

Poison glares at the direction where the voice had come from and walks towards the bar of the diner, where they keep the swear jar. It’s half-full, and about 90% of its contents have come from Ghoul and Poison. He stuffs 3 carbons into it reluctantly, mumbling, “Why do we even have a fucking swear jar…”

“That’s another carbon, honey,” Ghoul says right next to him, voice sweet and venomous at the same time, and when Poison turns back to bare his teeth at him for being a fucking snitch, there’s a spark of laughter in his eyes. Poison swallows his empty threats instead and only sticks out his tongue at Ghoul as he stuffs another carbon into the jar.

Joy is rare in the zones, so Poison will take all that he can get, even at his expense.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Act like you aren’t responsible for at least half of the carbons here, if not more,” Poison retorts, crossing his arms, his eyes and smirk teasing.

Ghoul rises to the challenge, like always, like Poison wants him to. He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly and says, “Never said I wasn’t, _fucker_.”

Poison gasps dramatically and points an accusing finger at him, opening his mouth to chastise him for it, but Ghoul is already stuffing one carbon of his own into the jar, a silent giggle visibly scrunching up the corners of his eyes. Poison finally breaks and laughs, for the both of them—the four of them, as Kobra and Jet are rolling their eyes with poorly masked amusement—and is the one to pull Ghoul in for a kiss this time.

They’re both smiling into the kiss, teeth knocking a couple times, and it’s fucking wonderful.

“That’s another carbon into the PDA jar!” The Girl’s voice booms from the adjacent room again and Poison groans, reluctantly pulling away from Ghoul to violently stuff in _yet another_ carbon into the jar next to the swear jar. The Girl’s gonna fucking run him out of pocket money.

“Hey, motorbaby,” he yells in no direction in concrete, looking all around the diner suspiciously. “You got surveillance cameras on us or what?”

A small laugh like tinkling bells is the only response he gets and Poison isn’t sure if he’s proud of his Girl or absolutely _terrified_ of her. He shivers despite the oppressing heat he’d somehow managed to forget in all the commotion.

“She’s gonna kill us one day, guys,” Poison says, completely deadpan.

Ghoul explodes into laughter, doubling over and grabbing the diner counter for support.

Jet rolls up the map they were scribbling on before and hits Poison in the head with it, a small smile twitching in his lips. “You’ll deserve it.”

Poison shrugs and grins devilishly. “I probably will.”

*

The ride to the selected spot is much easier than expected, taking into account all the heat from the sun frying their brains even more than usual and the increasing levels of radiation from the Zones they cross as they get further and further away from Bat City. They both brought their re-breathers with them and they pull them on as they park the car in front of the lonely shack in the middle of Nowhere, Desert and get out.

They can’t talk much like this, because the rebreathers make it hard and they get entirely unpleasant after breathing out hot puffs of air into them for a few minutes, so they communicate mostly in glances and gestures.

Ghoul points in the direction of the only opening they can see in the run-down shack and nods towards Poison, who returns his nod, and they both head towards it without hesitation. It’s hard to find Drac patrols this far out and nobody would dare to stand out in this sun for hours on end, not even those brainwashed fuckers.

They look around in companionable silence, what feels like decades of exploring together like this making the task feel like just another day in the routine and something they don’t have to pay much attention to. They do, though, pay attention, because they’re here to scavenge for supplies and they’ve been running dangerously low for a couple of weeks now.

If it were only the four of them, they could go without food or even water for a few days. Surviving on the bare minimum requirements is nothing new for the Fabulous Four, as much glamour their name carries, but it’s just not the same when they have the Girl with them now. Conditions are already harsh as can be out here, they can’t make her go through hunger or thirst now that they’re taking care of her.

It takes only a few minutes and two rounds of the shack for both Poison and Ghoul to realize that the untouched, supply-filled shack was nothing more than a pipe dream. There’s barely anything left here, and what _is_ left is mostly junk and scraps. Only a very small portion of the stuff is salvageable.

They return to the Trans-Am without so much as a glance to make sure the other is following and get on again, angrily pulling off their re-breathers once they’re inside and the widows are up.

“It’s fuckin’ useless,” Poison groans.

“No shit,” Ghoul replies in a growl, messing with his hair. “There’s nothing left worth a carbon.”

Poison sighs and slumps in his seat. They can’t go back empty-handed, not after all the gasoline they’ve used up getting here and the one they’ll use up getting back to the diner, not after they had taken the very last of their provisions for this trip, they just _can’t_.

Poison bumps his shoulder against Ghoul’s to try and lighten up the mood again. They can’t let themselves get down like this so easily.

“You think we should do another round? Maybe we missed something.”

Ghoul sighs, his fingers finally leaving the bridge of his nose he’d been clutching for a few minutes. “Yeah, whatever. It won’t do any harm, right?” He says and turns to Poison with a small smile, but Poison can see how forced it is. Ghoul doesn’t fake his smiles unless he really needs to. 

Poison’s eyes go soft and he tucks a strand of crazy, matted hair behind Ghoul’s ear. “Yeah, let’s go.”

They pull their rebreathers back on and get out again. This time, Poison makes sure to check every nook and cranny possible as he rounds the shack, first on the inside and then on the outside, as Ghoul does the same in the opposite order. He’s almost about to officially call it a lost cause when, at the very back of the outside of the shack, Poison trips on something.

He catches himself on hands and knees, stirring up dust that his rebreather filters for him, but it’s almost too much for it to catch all of it. He ends up coughing a few times, conjuring up saliva to swallow the uncomfortable grains of sand that managed to get past the filter and into his rebreather.

Once he’s able to stand up without hacking out a lung, Poison toes at the sand beneath his feet, trying to search for whatever he tripped on. After only stirring up more dust for a few seconds he’s about to give up on it, and then his foot bumps into something. Poison frowns, unable to see past the cloud of dust he’s just stirred up, and knocks his foot against whatever it is a couple more times.

It doesn’t move, which means it’s affixed to the ground, and it feels solid and vaguely metallic. Carefully running his foot alongside its frame, Poison discovers its shape: a half-rectangle with curved corners, like an anchor point. Or a handle.

Hurrying to his knees once more, Poison feels with his hands on the ground until he finds exactly what he was praying for but not allowing himself to actually hope for. His bare fingers run alongside the contour of a square on the ground and the almost unnoticeable gap all around it. Surely enough, underneath the handle-feeling thing, Poison finds a small opening. A keyhole.

It’s a hatch. And whatever it is hiding, they’re going to find.

“Ghoul!” Poison yells, his fingers unable to leave the hatch, like it’s going to disappear into the dust if he stops touching it. “Get your ass back here! And bring your lockpick!”

“Lockpick?” Ghoul’s voice comes from the inside the shack, surprised. He comes around to the back, although Poison can’t see his expression because of the rebreather, he can imagine it’s just as perplexed as his. “What the fuck did you find?”

“It’s a hatch,” Poison replies, his voice low and awed.

“A hatch?!” Ghoul’s voice pitches high with his disbelief and Poison almost laughs at him for it, if it weren’t for the fact that that’s exactly how he’s feeling right now too. “Motherfucker!”

Ghoul gets to work immediately, picking the lock with little effort—the one skill they all have come to learn Ghoul is infinitely times better at than any of them. Poison knows he’s done when he hears a click coming from underneath him and Ghoul looks up from his work to him. They lock eyes through the visors of their rebreathers and Poison nods as Ghoul gulps and his hand tugs very lightly at the handle.

The hatch swings open.

Once the dust has settled, they both look down and into it, almost afraid of breathing the wrong way near it were it to disappear under them. But it does nothing of the sort. It stays firm and solid under their hands and feet as they climb down the pristine ladder that leads _wherever_ this hatch was made to enter.

Poison goes down first and immediately starts blindly looking for a light switch on the wall. It’s pitch dark down here, and with the quality of the ladder they’d just climbed down from, he’s _sure_ whoever built this must’ve spent tons on making sure electricity kept running for eons on end.

Of course, he finds it, and when he flips it on and bright, fucking LED lights turn on all around the room, he almost recoils at the sudden brightness. Eyes shut, he hears as Ghoul finally finishes climbing down the ladder and his boots hit the ground. 

Poison pulls his rebreather off and finally takes a look all around himself and the room they’ve found.

“Holy fuckin’ Witch,” is all he can muster after a few seconds of staring.

Speechless for once in his life, Ghoul can only nod in fervent agreement.

*

May Destroya bless whoever had first put forth the idea of “Apocalypse Bunkers” to old, rich people who had too much of both paranoia and money and were not afraid to run out of the latter to satisfy the former.

“You do realize all of these rations would allow us to live like fuckin’ animals for like, five years, right?” Poison asks from where Ghoul and him had laid on the ground of the bunker after thoroughly searching it and categorizing all of the goods. They’re still basking on it, because it’s way too good to be real.

Whoever had built this bunker had stacked it chock full of all things a single person could need to live out an entire life down here, without any need to go out at all. There’s even a UV lamp to help in a possible future with very little or no sun, and though Poison had almost thrown it across the bunker in frustration—Destroya knows they have _too_ much of the sun already—, he had to concede it was a very smart decision. This bunker, whoever had built it, had made sure to cover all possibilities of a future apocalypse.

More importantly, Poison remembers as he raises the canteen to his mouth for what must be the fifteenth time in about ten minutes, there were liters upon liters of _water_. Potable, drinkable water. Non-radiation contaminated water. You’ll-get-to-live-longer-not-shorter-if-you-drink-me water.

Poison was still struck with disbelief at the find and had been downing canteen after canteen of it, parched after days of terrible heatwave and carefully rationed water. It didn’t matter if he finished five of the gallons the bunker had in storage, he wouldn’t even make a _dent_ in the stock.

“Yeah,” Ghoul replies to his question, the word coming out in a disbelieving sigh. “We can extend it to ten if we ration it smartly, and still have left over to donate to Dr. D’s stock to help anyone else who might need it,” he says, always better with numbers than Poison ever was. Ten years sounds like a fucking dream. It feels like one.

“Fuck,” Poison gasps out, because no other word really captures what that knowledge makes him feel.

“Yeah,” Ghoul agrees, a smile in his voice. “Fuck, indeed.”

Poison raises the canteen to his mouth again, gulping down water like he’s trying to win a chugging contest and even slightly choking on it. He coughs a few times, wiping away the stray drops that have escaped the corners of his mouth.

“Stop doing that, you’re going to get yourself sick,” Ghoul says, swatting at his canteen.

“Fuck you,” Poison barks out and chugs down another big gulp of water. “I haven’t been able to drink actual water in way too long and the heat has been literally killing me. Have you felt my skin? I’m so fucking dehydrated, it feels like _sandpaper_ ,” he complains, droning on and on about all the difficulties he’s being put through due to the heat and lack of rations. “My hair is like, starting to fall out. I’m going to go _bald_ , Ghoul.”

Ghoul laughs and rolls onto his side and over Poison’s body with no regard at all for the fact that he’s putting his whole body weight on top of Poison. His fingers tug at Poison’s hair as he says, teasing, “Are you sure that’s not just all the shitty bleach you keep using on it? You know that shit’s frying it.”

“It’s not like I have much of a choice,” Poison retorts with a huff. He paws at Ghoul’s waist lightly, silently urging to get off of him.

He always does this, like he thinks just because he’s short he weighs ten pounds and isn’t making it hard for Poison to breathe. Even more so, Poison is discovering Ghoul might’ve had some sort of point with the whole stop-drinking-water thing, because the weight of another human on top of him is _really_ making obvious the fact that his bladder is suddenly full and ready to burst.

“You could stop dyeing it,” Ghoul replies casually, twirling Poison’s hair on his finger. His eyes are locked on his own actions, so it takes Poison by surprise when he feels fingers sneak under his shirt and up his side, lightly tickling his ribs.

“You know I can’t,” Poison hisses out, his eyes sliding shut. There’s a thrum brewing under his skin now and it brings about the pleasant heat of arousal with it. “Gotta keep up the image.”

Ghoul huffs. “Of course. How else would, y’know, _BL/ind_ immediately recognize and target the leader of the Fabulous Killjoys every single time we go on a raid?”

“Yeah,” Poison replies, smirking up at him, cocky. “I need to let that Korse motherfucker know who’s the one shooting him dead every single time.”

“Ah, yes,” Ghoul says, but something changes in his voice and Poison can see his eyes darken. “I’ll never get tired of seeing you do that,” he whispers, voice heated, and his body shifts so he’s sitting with his thighs bracketed around Poison’s hips.

The words send a spark of heat up Poison’s spine, but the sudden shift in weight brings about a more important reminder. Although it’s easier to breathe with Ghoul’s weight off of his chest, it almost means his whole weight is resting atop Poison’s bladder and Poison suddenly, _desperately_ , has to fucking piss.

“Ah, wa-wait—,” Poison stutters out in a whine, clutching at Ghoul’s wrist where it’s raking Poison’s shirt up his body. “I—the water,” Poison tries to get out, but his body is screaming at him so loudly that _his bladder is fucking full, please_ , that he can barely form a coherent thought.

Ghoul snickers and continues his previous actions, bunching up Poison’s shirt under his armpits. Poison has no strength left in him to fight it, his head spinning with the overwhelming need to relieve his bladder. “Are you really still going on about the fuckin’ water?” Ghoul asks before bowing down and closing his lips around one of Poison’s nipples gently, swirling his tongue, then biting down around it. 

Poison whines, high-pitched, his body bowing towards the contact. The shift in position makes the pressure over his bladder increase though, and he hisses as he drops back down to the floor. Before he can say anything about how Ghoul really needs to _get off of him right the fuck now_ , Ghoul moves to the other nipple and bites down again, making Poison’s words dissolve into a broken gasp.

“Here,” Ghoul says, his voice deep with desire. His hand reaches out to grab the canteen off of Poison’s hands—which, he hadn’t even realized he was still holding—and says, before taking a big gulp, “I’ll give you your fucking water.”

When Ghoul bends down and locks their mouths together, letting the water slide out of his own mouth and into Poison’s, he realizes that Ghoul has understood him _so_ wrong. Poison gulps down the water and fists a hand in Ghoul’s hair, ready to pull him off and scream at him that he’s going to fucking piss himself, but of course Ghoul gets it all wrong, _again_. He moans into Poison’s mouth and his hips start moving over Poison’s slowly, almost like he’s not even conscious of it.

Poison’s fist tightens in Ghoul’s hair when he realizes he’s half-hard already and the friction is helping him bring to full hardness, heat starting to pool in his stomach with a spike of arousal. But the motion also brings attention back to his bladder and fuck, some wires are definitely crossing somewhere in his brain, because his head’s suddenly dizzy with how _good_ it feels. He moans into the kiss, his hips canting up to meet Ghoul’s, and his blood _thrums_ with the sensation.

“Oh, fuck,” he curses out, his brain unable to come up with any useful words. “Shit, shit—”

Ghoul laughs against his lips, moving down and nipping at Poison’s jaw. “Are you really that desperate? It hasn’t even been that long.” Ghoul moves down to press a kiss onto his pulse, then suck a hickey on the side of his neck. Poison gasps, involuntarily angling his head so Ghoul has better access. “I’m either _really_ good,” Ghoul continues, moving downwards again, nipping at his collarbones this time. “Or you’re _really_ a slut.” He looks up from his position to Poison, who is so concentrated on _breathing_ that he can’t really muster up anything to say back. Ghoul chuckles, his eyes sparkling with satisfaction and mischief. “Or maybe it’s both.”

“I—” Poison starts, but finds nothing to say. He’s not going to deny Ghoul is good because they both know he _is_ —and he’s also not going to say he’s not a slut because, well, he _is_. Ghoul keeps moving downward, his mouth leaving behind a trail of licks, bites and kisses, and Poison’s eyes roll back when Ghoul’s mouth finally reaches his navel. “Ffffffuck—”

He doesn’t even know what he’s cursing about; if it’s because of the way his dick is suddenly straining against the zipper of his jeans and Ghoul’s mouth is _so_ close to it, or because Ghoul’s mouth is _so_ close to his dick and he’s suddenly acutely aware of how _bad_ he has to piss again.

Ghoul laughs at him, the cocky bastard, and his breath tickles Poison’s navel, which is _really_ not helping the need-to-pee situation. Before he can say anything about it, Ghoul has thumbed open the button of his jeans and is carefully lowering the zipper with his teeth, because he’s a fucking show-off. The drag of the metal is almost too much on the sensitive skin of his cock—because, of course, today was the day he’d chosen to go commando—but it’s, at the same time, exactly right. Poison groans, the pleasure running up and down his spine almost too much to bear, but he still needs _more_.

Ghoul gets his zipper all the way down, _finally,_ after what feels like forever, and presses a thumb to the slit of Poison’s dick, where precum is beading up already.

“No underwear _and_ you’re leaking already?” Ghoul mocks, his lips a teasing smirk. His thumb moves downwards on the slit and joins his forefinger to gently hold the head as he gives it a teasing lick. Poison mewls. “I guess you’re more desperate than I thought.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Poison replies, the only sentence he’s sure he’d be able to utter in any kind of situation. His hips are gently bucking up into Ghoul’s loose grip without his permission, eagerly seeking more contact. But this isn’t what neither Ghoul nor Poison want and Poison knows _the best_ way to shut Ghoul up.

Fisting one hand Ghoul’s hair, Poison slowly guides his mouth to his dick. Ghoul’s eyes sparkle when he notices what Poison is doing and goes willingly, putting up no resistance to Poison’s hand. Once he’s close, Ghoul diligently closes his lips around the head of Poison’s cock and sucks gently, which pulls a gasp from Poison. There’s something about the sensation that’s got Poison’s whole body squirming in a way it hasn’t before. Ghoul seems to notice, as he licks one long stripe down the shaft with the flat of his tongue, before coming back up and sucking around the head again, a bit more forceful this time.

Poison’s hips buck with it, and he curses, his eyes almost rolling back. He doesn’t understand what’s happening, what is taking every single of his nerve endings and setting them on fucking fire like this, why everything suddenly feels ten times sharper than it ever did before, but he’s going to fucking take it and run with it for now.

Ghoul makes a routine out of it. Big licks around and along the shaft, then coming back up for a suckle around the head, almost like he’s eating a fucking popsicle. It drives Poison insane. The sensations and zaps of pleasure are delightful, but it’s not nearly enough. He growls in warning and tightens the fist in Ghoul’s hair, urging him to go down with his mouth as he’s sucking on the head. Ghoul moans around him and it sends shivers up Poison’s spine, but he gets the message and slowly, so very slowly, goes down with his lips wrapped around Poison’s cock.

He doesn’t come back up immediately, though, and Poison tugs at his hair confusedly. Ghoul follows the tug upwards and Poison suddenly _gets it_ , his head going dizzy with the wave of pleasure the mere idea brings with it. Ghoul wants him to fuck his mouth.

Although it’s half laziness from Ghoul’s side, because sometimes he just doesn’t want to do any work at all, Poison still _loves_ it. There’s a certain amount of unspoken trust and vulnerability in allowing Poison to do whatever the fuck he wants to Ghoul, move him however he pleases, _use him_ to fulfill his desires and the rush he gets from it, from knowing Ghoul trusts him like this, is fucking incredible. And Poison knows Ghoul loves it, loves being manhandled and roughed up, sure, but he also loves being the one who brings Poison pleasure like this, the one that is able to affect Poison so much with a mere touch of his lips, a lick of his tongue. 

Poison bucks into Ghoul’s mouth and feels Ghoul’s throat relax around him, the rest of his body going pliant on top of Poison. He can’t see Ghoul’s face at this angle, but he knows what it looks like anyway: droopy, half-lidded eyes hazy with desire, jaw slack and ready to accept any movement at all, lips red and swollen, spit-slick. It’s always a fucking gorgeous picture.

It doesn’t take long at all for the heat in Poison’s navel to tighten into a knot, so tight and ready to unravel at any moment, but the moment he starts to lose control and fuck into Ghoul’s mouth in earnest, another feeling creeps up on him.

Suddenly, his bladder is screaming at him again that he needs to pee right the fuck now and Poison roughly pulls Ghoul off of him with a gasp, suddenly very afraid that he’s going to fucking piss on his mouth.

“By Destroya,” Poison swears, scrambling to sit up and rest his forehead on the shoulder of a very confused, still very aroused, Ghoul. His breath is coming in little gasps and his hips are still moving out of his control, but he _can’t_ let go or it’s not going to end well. He whines into Ghoul’s shoulder, one of his hands clutching Ghoul’s waist so hard it must hurt and might leave bruises, willing his hips to stop bucking into thin air out of sheer force of will. “I’m sorry, I—,” he gasps, trying to find a way to explain what the hell is going on, but words escape him.

The words seem to snap Ghoul out of his dick-sucking trance and his eyes focus on Party’s face, which he cradles in both hands. His eyebrows are scrunched up, worried. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Yes, yeah, I’m okay,” Poison says, all in a rush, and he whines again as he feels another wave of pleasure roll over him, coming from fuck knows what. It’s so much and not enough, but if he tips himself into _just enough_ territory he’s afraid that what’s going to be coming out of his dick isn’t going to be come. “It’s just—holy shit—the water.” His words are jumbled, because his brain can’t form a single coherent thought, and he looks at Ghoul with hazy, but pleading eyes.

“What about the water? Was it bad? Did you get sick?” Ghoul’s voice is clear, a stark contrast to his previous state, and his eyes are darting between Poison’s, probably looking for an answer to his questions.

Poison shakes his head fervently, biting his bottom lip. “No, it wasn’t bad, I just—” his hips buck and Ghoul must’ve moved closer or something, because his dick brushes against the fabric of Ghoul’s shirt and _fuck, that feels so good_. He hisses before grabbing both sides of Ghoul’s shirt and continuing, in a desperate plea, “I drank too much! Fuck, Ghoul, I’m going to fucking _piss_ myself!”

It sounds almost too loud in the small, sterile-looking room, and Poison feels his cheeks heating up. He’s not one to blush easily, if at all, but loudly admitting that he might just piss all over himself and his boyfriend is _not_ something that he ever thought would happen to him, and turns out it’s pretty fucking embarrassing. With a groan, he hides his face in Ghoul’s shoulder.

“Oh,” is all Ghoul says, small and surprised, and Poison is ready to fucking _die_.

“I—I’ll just. Bathroom,” Poison says, muffled against Ghoul’s shoulder and hair, but doesn’t make any effort to move. He’s not sure he _can_ without either succumbing to his bladder or his embarrassment.

Ghoul hums, not exactly a response, but he doesn’t make any move to help Poison up either. After a few seconds of held breath, the tension in the room like pinpricks on his skin, Poison almost _jumps_ when he feels Ghoul’s finger dragging up from the base of his erection to the tip, rubbing at the slit once he’s there. Poison moans and his hips buck, seeking more of the contact, because his body is a fucking traitor and its only priority is pleasure. Ghoul hums again, watching Poison squirm under the touch, like he’s thinking something over.

“Is it bad?” He asks after a few seconds, still rubbing his thumb against the slit, and Poison hisses again, the sensation almost aggressive in the way Poison’s body responds, but fuck it feels _so_ good.

“No—not bad,” Poison replies, trying to stay focused enough to actually answer Ghoul’s question. He’s blabbering anyway, his words barely forming coherent sentences. “It’s just—a lot. It feels _so much_.” 

Ghoul nods, like any of that made any fucking sense. He drags his thumb from the head of Poison’s dick down to the base, his blunt nail scraping just the tiniest bit, and Poison is going to absolutely lose his mind. His moans staccato as he grabs onto Ghoul’s waist for dear life, because it feels like he could slip out of his own skin right now.

“Do you think you can hold it in? Until after you come?”

The question feels like it comes out of nowhere, although Poison knows it doesn’t. The moment the idea is put into his mind, though, Poison’s whole body _sings_ with a chant of _yes, yes, yes_. He doesn’t know _why_ he wants this, doesn’t even know how Ghoul knew this was something he would want, but by the Witch he _fucking wants it so bad_.

He doesn’t realize he’s nodding like a maniac until Ghoul stops the movement by stilling his head with his free hand. He looks into Poison’s eyes, his other hand tightening around the base of Poison’s dick, and Poison moans. He tries to buck up into Ghoul’s grip, but it’s almost tight enough to hurt, and Poison whines in protest.

“I do—I can. I can hold it,” Poison finally answers the question in between gasps.

Ghoul’s eyes soften, then sharpen as his smirk turns mischievous and _oh no_. Poison should’ve seen this coming.

“Good. Wait here for a moment.” Ghoul lets go of him and Poison whines at the loss of contact, but Ghoul shushes him with a kiss on the top of his head. 

Willing himself to wait and not just fuck his own hand until he comes, Poison fists both of his hands on top of his thighs and takes deep breaths to calm himself down. It only works somewhat, as the throbbing of his bladder is ever-present and impossible to ignore, which reminds him that he _can’t_ let it empty until after he’s come, which reminds him just how good everything has felt up to this point and how good it’s going to feel when he finally gets to release.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath. Patience has never been his strongest virtue and it feels like if he’s left alone for a minute longer he’s going to explode.

Thankfully, Ghoul returns to his side at that moment, gently shushing the whines and sounds of complaint Poison hadn’t even realized he was making. He burrows his head into Ghoul’s hair the moment he gets close enough, because he needs _something_ to help soothe the ache of loss of contact. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this needy.

Ghoul seems to agree, if his fond chuckle is anything to go by. Poison hears something drag across the floor of the bunker and he opens one eye towards the sound to find Ghoul dragging a small bucket closer to them. Poison gives him a puzzled look.

“To try to contain the mess,” Ghoul answers the unasked question with a knowing glint in his eyes. Poison feels himself flush again. Right. He’s gonna need somewhere to piss. After positioning the small bucket in between them, Ghoul stands up and rounds Poison, pressing himself flush against Poison’s back. His voice is dark and honey-thick when he says into Poison’s ear, “We’ll do it like this.”

Ghoul’s hand sneaks around Poison’s waist to grip at his erection loosely. It’s barely any contact at all, but Poison still gasps and arches his back towards it, his head falling back to land on Ghoul’s shoulder. He’s on edge already, his skin buzzing with electricity and pleasure, and it feels like he’s going to come any minute now—or perhaps what comes out won’t be come at all. 

The thought sends a shiver of embarrassment down his spine, but sends a flush of arousal to his navel. It’s such a contradicting set of reactions, but everything feels _so_ much and _so_ good that Poison doesn’t even care at this point. His head is spinning enough already solely from the sensations.

Ghoul’s other hand caresses Poison’s chest under his ratty shirt until he finally finds his nipple and pinches on the hard nub, electing a hiss from Poison, who bucks into the loose fist of Ghoul’s hand. Ghoul shushes him, then moves his mouth from Poison’s ear to his neck and starts sucking and biting as his fist starts moving tortuously slow on Poison’s cock.

Poison whimpers, fisting Ghoul’s hair in his hand, unsure if he’s trying to pull him away or keep him in place. The hand around his dick is not enough yet nearly too much, and the fingers relentlessly pinching and massaging at his nipples are setting his nerve endings on fire. His bladder is screaming at him still, but it does little to deter him from seeking out his own pleasure, eagerly bucking his hips in time with Ghoul’s strokes, trying to get more friction.

Time seems to stretch infinitely and the sensations crescendo until Poison feels like he’s nothing but a bundle of nerve endings being set ablaze again and again, the throb of his bladder amplifying everything tenfold. He floats in a haze of bliss for a few seconds, and then suddenly he feels his dick pulsing and his muscles contracting and he’s going to come, oh fuck, he’s _coming_.

“Fuck, fuck, Ghoul, I’m—” he manages to get out in between gasps of breath, the hand on Ghoul’s hair tightening to the point where it must be painful, but Ghoul only soothes him with kisses and encouraging strokes.

“It’s ok, baby, it’s ok. Come, come for me.” Ghoul’s voice is deep and clearly aroused as he speaks into Poison’s ear, and Poison has one second to think _fuck, he’s into this too_ before his whole body is bowing like a taut string and he’s coming, high-pitched moans mixing with Ghoul’s name as the only word he seems capable of uttering.

Ghoul strokes him through it, the sticky come making the slide easy and delicious, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on the skin of Poison’s chest and belly. It takes him a while to come down and even longer to regain full control of his senses, but the moment Poison feels somewhat in control of his body once again, he’s reminded of just why his orgasm felt so explosive.

“Shit, shit, Ghoul, the bucket—” Poison says in a rush, blindly feeling for the bucket, but Ghoul has already pulled it forward and in front of him. Poison whimpers as he pees into it, the satisfaction of release bringing a new wave of pleasure about, his body still so sensitive and confused about all the mixed signals that it almost feels like he’s having another orgasm. “Holy fuck, Ghoul, I swear on the Witch—”

He feels more than hears Ghoul chuckle against his hair as he lets himself fall back against Ghoul’s body, entirely spent in more ways than one. He hears Ghoul’s breath stutter as he lets himself fall and grinds his hips down onto Ghoul’s lap experimentally. When Ghoul’s hands grip his hips to keep him still and he groans against Poison’s nape, Poison smiles lazily. He grinds down again, fighting against Ghoul’s grip, clearly feeling the hardness of Ghoul’s erection.

“C’mon,” Poison says, low and sultry, and Ghoul takes in a sharp breath. Poison feels Ghoul’s hips buck under him.

“Can—can I?” Ghoul asks, and Poison is already answering _yes_ before he even knows what Ghoul is asking permission for. 

For a second, Poison imagines Ghoul bending him over and fucking into him until they’re both delirious with pleasure again, but he’s so spent he’s not sure he’d be able withstand that. Instead, Ghoul simply starts bucking up against Poison’s ass, like a teenager unable to control himself, and Poison laughs as he grinds down on Ghoul’s lap to help.

Ghoul is moaning against his nape, leaving open-mouthed kisses every now and then, and it’s only a matter of minutes before Poison feels him stiffen before loosening up again, his hips losing rhythm and frantically bucking up against his ass as Ghoul comes in his pants.

In between the bucket of piss in front of them, Poison’s come drying in a sticky mess on his dick and shirt and Ghoul’s underwear getting wet with his own come, they’ve made as much of a contained mess as they possibly could.

Poison laughs with the realization, open-mouthed and satisfied, his whole body pliant and content. He feels Ghoul huff against his nape.

“What is it now, sicko?” Ghoul asks, the harsh tone of his words softened by the adoring kiss he places on the back of Poison’s neck, just under his undercut.

“Nothing, it’s just—” Poison laughs again and he feels Ghoul’s arms tighten around his waist. He’s smiling as he says, almost proud, “We’re disgusting, aren’t we?”

Ghoul snorts and bites at Poison’s neck, teeth sinking in to the point of pain, but he lets go before Poison can slap him away, the bastard. “You’re _just now_ noticing that?”

“Well, sometimes we cross the previous bar of disgusting we’d set before and I get surprised all over again,” Poison replies, sneaking a glance and smirk back towards Ghoul, who smirks right back at him.

“Yeah, we’re fucking disgusting,” Ghoul says as he wraps his arms tighter around Poison’s waist and burrows into him, almost like he’s trying to meld them into one single person instead of two. It’s adorable, and Poison doesn’t even know anymore if Ghoul means they’re disgusting because of the mess they’ve made or because of how stupidly in love they still are after all this time.

_You really gotta love someone to trust them to not piss all over you_ , Poison thinks absentmindedly.

They stay there, sitting in the middle of the disgusting mess they’ve created for a while, basking in each other’s presence and touch. The bunker is cool enough that their proximity isn’t unbearable with sticky sweat, and they take advantage of it for as long as they can.

Eventually, though, they get up and clean up because, while hot in theory, laying in dried come and next to a bucket of piss isn’t exactly the most comfortable of situations. They work in companionable silence as they clean up and then move onto categorizing and storing the supplies from the bunker without even needing to talk about it. They move and think in sync, almost like they do in raids and raygun fights, always exactly in step with the other.

Telepathy, some have called it. Witchcraft, others whisper. They’re just fucking, Pony always replies. 

And it’s true, in part, because they’ve learned the planes and curves of each other’s bodies through stolen moments in the looming, bleak landscape that is their future, but they’ve learnt more than that from each other. They’ve shared more of each other in late night patrolling than they ever have with anyone else, let the other see the raw essence of their hearts. It’s vulnerable and scary as fuck, but there’s immesurable strength in knowing your companion like that, knowing you can trust them with your life and then some.

Poison stops for a moment to watch Ghoul as he squats over a box of canned food. He’s counting the cans over and over, like he’s still not believing there’s this many of them, and there’s a genuine, warm smile that stretches his lips just barely. His eyes are awed and Poison’s heart skips a beat when he realizes that that’s the same look Ghoul gives him sometimes, when they’re alone and the sun has set and there’s no one to witness them but the stars.

Something tightens in Poison’s chest and he thinks, _yeah, I’d stuff all of my carbons into the PDA jar for you._

*

“You’re fucking with me,” Jet says the moment they’ve finished unloading all of the cargo they could fit into the Trans-Am.

The Girl is there, but she’s so busy going through the rations and counting over and over again that she doesn’t even comment on Jet’s swear—which, Poison isn’t entirely convinced she doesn’t do out of favoritism.

“There’s still more at the bunker because we couldn’t fit everything else into the Trans-Am,” Ghoul says, his smile big and proud. “Dude, there’s _tons_ of rations there. If we ration it smartly, we may not need to go look for more supplies in _years_.”

“You’re _absolutely_ fucking with me,” Jet repeats himself, but he’s smiling a goofy, delighted grin and Ghoul laughs as he claps him in the shoulder.

They unload the supplies from the Trans-Am in no time and start counting, Kobra ready as always with his magical notebook of record keeping. Poison isn’t sure how it works, as whenever he’s flipped through it all he’s seen is illegible scribbles, but he’s sure Kobra works some kinda magic with it because their rations _always_ last longer than they possibly should.

Poison somehow ends up in charge of moving the gallons of water from the Trans-Am to their storage, and he feels his face heat up whenever he remembers what happened back at the bunker, which is pretty often as all he’s doing is carrying water to their storage room. To make matters worse, Poison can _feel_ Ghoul staring at him as he works, and he doesn’t even have to look back at him to see the smirk on his face. 

By the time he’s finished, Jet has asked him if he feels okay at least three different times and warned him about heatstroke two more. Ghoul has snickered at all of them, though out of earshot of Jet, which Poison thinks is just fucking unfair. He shouldn’t be the one taking all the heat, considering that they were both _very_ involved in what happened earlier.

Unable to take any more of Jet’s concerned stares—and Kobra’s knowing ones, because of course that fucker would just _know_ what was really going on—Poison sneaks into his and Ghoul’s room once he’s finished moving the cargo. He closes the makeshift door behind himself, grateful as always for any semblance of privacy, and turns around to find Ghoul reclining on the bed, looking way too content and relaxed for Poison’s taste.

Poison glares at him, knowing that Ghoul will definitely get what it’s all about. Ghoul laughs, obviously knowing the cause, and gets up from the bed, walking towards Poison. Once he’s in front of him, he grabs Poison’s chin with one hand and lowers it slightly so their eyes are at the same height.

“C’mon, don’t be mad. You were the one getting all flustered,” Ghoul teases, and Poison is about to turn around and out the room again when Ghoul places one hand on his waist, effectively stopping him. “And I got you a present.”

Poison watches with barely contained curiosity in the direction Ghoul’s nodded and his eyes widen as he sees the small stack of gallons of water in the corner of their room. He turns back to Ghoul, cheeks flushed, and Ghoul has the balls to laugh right there in his fucking face. With a roll of his eyes, Poison finally admits defeat and pulls Ghoul in for a messy kiss by the lapels of his vest.

“You fucking bastard,” Poison says against Ghoul’s lips and he feels Ghoul’s laughter against his lips and all through his body. He can’t wipe the smile off his face.

“Yeah,” Ghoul says, cocky, and leans in to place another kiss on Poison’s lips. “But yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always, you can find me screaming about mcr's return and other fandoms on [**twitter**](https://twitter.com/phylocalist)! come scream with me or like, watch me spiral into a breakdown every time the mcr twitter account breathes.


End file.
